Another Ant
by Marin Sorescu (1931-1996)

An ant was walking hard and fast

And raising plumes of densest dust

As it trampled with its feet

Like a sergeant on his beat.

 

“Where d’you think you’re rushing, brute,

Who’s chasing you in hot pursuit?

You’re wreaking havoc in your rage,

Disgraceful ants, disgraceful age!”

 

from Around the Weenfinite Starting from Nothing Definite, Ion Creangă, 1973

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